Donold J. Grump Ch 2

It was mid-morning by the time Donold J. Grump stomped onto the manicured lawn at Maga Logo, his slippers dragging through damp grass. Behind him, Egon Tusk trailed, still clad in his mismatched pajamas, a faint mushroomy smell clinging to him like a stubborn aura.

The scene that greeted Grump felt like a waking nightmare.

A haphazard collection of scaffolding, cranes, and enormous red tarps now sprawled across the south lawn. Workers—if you could call them that—scurried back and forth, most of them barefoot and wearing what looked like bedsheets. Some appeared to be meditating, while others were attempting to align solar panels by holding them up to the sky at random angles. A giant metallic structure shaped suspiciously like an egg was under construction in the center of it all, glowing faintly with LEDs.

Grump froze, his mouth agape. “What the actual hell is this?”

Egon’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Behold: the Mars Ark prototype! A biodome capable of housing 144 enlightened humans for the great journey to the red planet. It’s a work in progress, of course.”

“Work in progress?” Grump’s face turned a shade of red to rival the Martian soil. “This is my lawn, Egon! My lawn! Where I host state dinners, where I pose for photos! Who gave you permission to do this?”

“Your energy,” Egon said matter-of-factly. “Your aura gave me all the permission I needed.”

Grump sputtered. “Aura? What the hell are you—”

“Donny, I explained this earlier,” Egon interrupted, gesturing to the sky. “You and I are cosmically aligned. A Martian ambassador and his Earthly counterpart, destined to unite two planets. I’m merely fulfilling the will of the cosmos.”

Grump threw his hands in the air. “There’s no cosmic will telling you to vandalize my lawn! You’re not an ambassador; you’re a lunatic with a god complex!”

Egon gave him a pitying look, as though Grump were the child in the conversation. “That’s exactly the kind of Earth-centric thinking we need to shed. Here, take another mushroom.” He held out the slimy bag again.

Grump smacked it out of his hand. “I don’t want your damn fungus! I want you gone, Egon! Out of my house, off my lawn, and out of my life!”

Egon’s eyes widened. “Gone? But Donny, you can’t mean that. We’re partners in destiny!”

Grump jabbed a finger at the glowing egg structure. “Destiny doesn’t involve egg-shaped... whatever that is! Do you know what the press will say when they see this? They’ll call me Egg Grump! ‘Cracked under pressure,’ they’ll say! I’ll be the laughingstock of Earth and Mars!”

But Egon was already distracted, staring dreamily at the egg. “Egg Grump... I like that. It’s poetic. Fertile. Life-giving.” He turned to one of the robed workers. “Make a note: we’ll name the biodome ‘Egg Grump 1.’”

The worker nodded solemnly, jotting it down on what appeared to be a slice of tree bark.

Grump let out a strangled noise, halfway between a groan and a scream. “Stop giving orders! This is my presidency, Egon! You’re just a house guest who’s overstayed his welcome!”

“Not true,” Egon said, unflappable. “You invited me to be your co-president. Don’t you remember?”

“No, I didn’t!”

“You absolutely did. I showed you my intergalactic credentials and everything. The mushrooms helped, of course.”

Grump’s eye twitched. He vaguely remembered a hazy night several weeks ago, after Egon had crashed his victory party. There had been drinks. A heated debate about Mars. And, yes, possibly some mushrooms. But surely he hadn’t agreed to this.

Egon clapped his hands, drawing Grump out of his spiraling thoughts. “Donny, we’re wasting daylight! The Ark won’t build itself. Come, let me show you the cryo-pod chamber.”

Before Grump could protest, Egon grabbed his arm and led him toward the glowing egg. As they passed through the chaos, Grump noticed a group of workers chanting in unison, their arms raised to the sky. Nearby, a woman was painting a mural of what appeared to be Egon riding a dolphin through space.

“This is insane,” Grump muttered.

“Insane is just a state of mind,” Egon replied cheerfully. “Now, imagine this: you and me, standing on Mars. The first co-presidents of an interplanetary government. Humanity will sing songs about us for centuries.”

Grump groaned. “Humanity won’t even survive the next week if this circus keeps up.”

Egon stopped in his tracks, his expression suddenly serious. “Donny, I need you to trust me. The mushrooms have shown me the way. Together, we’ll transcend the petty boundaries of Earth politics and reach for the stars.”

Grump stared at him, incredulous. “Reach for the stars? Egon, I don’t even trust you to reach for the remote without making it weird.”

Egon beamed. “That’s the spirit! Now, shall we inspect the launchpad?”

Grump was about to protest when the sound of approaching sirens cut through the air. He turned to see a fleet of news vans screeching to a halt at the edge of the lawn, reporters spilling out with cameras and microphones.

“Oh, great,” Grump muttered, rubbing his temples. “Here comes the circus.”

Egon’s face lit up. “Perfect! The people need to see this. It’s history in the making!”

As the reporters swarmed toward them, Grump turned to Egon with a desperate glare. “Get out of my house. Get off my lawn. And get that glowing egg... thing off my planet!”

Egon only smiled. “Sorry, Donny. The mushrooms have spoken.”